


Maybe the Stars will Align

by jusrecht



Category: Korean Actor RPF, Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is the whole country going to see pictures of the president kissing a callboy on the front page of a tabloid today?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I steal nearly the entire setting from the TV drama _The West Wing_ , one of my top favorite series of all time. Although I did try to transplant the setting into a Korean one, but the governmental structure of the two countries are too obviously different so in the end I decided to just keep the US one orz
> 
> Title comes from Pat Monahan's song, _Pirate On The Run_.

  
1.

Yoo Junsang began his day wishing that he had not gone out of bed this morning.

Being the president’s chief of staff, this was no extraordinary occurrence. In fact, a daily repetition could be expected at roughly 9.30AM without fail, even during weekends in the ultimate comfort of his house. Such was the chaos and mayhem blighting the process which the general populace were content to blithely name “running the country”. 

What made today a little bit different was in the nature of the challenge it posed. He arrived at the office at 6.30 to avoid the Monday rush-hour traffic, as usual, and five minutes later, a telephone call from Press Secretary Lee Gunmyung pretty much blew everything out of the water.

“A _callboy_?” he thundered into the office of aforementioned press secretary.

Gunmyung hastily raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he said in a placating tone. His clever handling of the press corps aside, Lee Gunmyung’s foremost instinct had always been to extinguish the fire inside the building first; only and _only_ after everything and everyone had been safely contained and soothed that he would he deal with the inferno outside. 

“Is the whole country going to see pictures of the president kissing a callboy on the front page of a tabloid today?”

Gunmyung looked vaguely uneasy. “Actually the term ‘callboy’ is problematic because it can lead to many–”

“Then it _is_ as bad as it sounds,” Junsang concluded darkly. 

“First of all,” Gunmyung switched to what his friends and colleagues often referred to as his ‘mollifying’ tone, which Junsang happened to find extremely irritating, “this is a cheap, street-corner kind of tabloid whose credibility is questionable at best. Second of all, maybe they _do_ have a couple of pictures, some of which are decorating the front page of said questionable tabloid and their equally shady gossip website, but all they captured was the moment when an innocent kiss happened. Anything other than that was purely conjecture. And third, no, the person involved here is _not_ a callboy. He is an up-and-rising idol singer who has, among others, two prominent and perfectly respectable musicals in his portfolio.”

“Then why are they saying he is a callboy?”

The uneasiness returned full-force. “Perhaps because the likelihood of one being an idol _and_ an occasional escort on the side is not exactly outside the realm of–”

“I’m going to kill him,” Junsang swore and stalked out of the room.

 

–

 

2.

Kim Publae did not have the easiest job in the world.

In fact, Kim Publae had one of the most complex and most challenging jobs in the long, bloody history of humankind—and rightly so, since he was responsible for the safety of the President of the United States. While the position did come with more than a few perks (including the incomparable power of intimidation), not even his formidable credentials as the head of the Presidential Detail for the Secret Service could adequately shield him from the storm of wrath that was the White House Chief of Staff. 

“So this has been going on for some time.”

Publae sent a silent prayer to every higher power above who might be watching and firmly maintained his stony expression. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not at liberty to discuss any detail of the president’s personal activities.”

The legion of dark clouds hovering above Junsang’s head was now positively spitting lightning and thunder. “I _am_ the president’s chief of staff.”

“Yes, sir.” Publae gravely nodded but otherwise remained unmoved. 

Junsang stared. About fifty criminal transgressions were clearly about to be committed in the Oval Office when the door finally opened and admitted, to Publae’s indescribable relief, the President himself, flanked by two other Secret Service agents. 

“So, are the wolves circling in or have I been deposed?”

The fact that the chief of staff could refrain from spontaneously combusting showed great self-restraint which Publae could not help but applaud. He himself tactfully retreated to the background to minimise his involvement in the brewing drama.

“This isn’t a joke, Mr President.”

The look the president slanted in his chief of staff’s direction as he took his seat behind the desk was decidedly amused. “I’m aware, but how else would you deal with this kind of thing?”

Publae bit down a smile. Opinion was still divided on whether Uhm Kijoon truly deserved all the glowing praises and accolades heaped on him as the best president the country had seen in the last fifty years, but he was certainly the most unusual. Publae, who had served under the previous two administrations as well, could personally attest to this. 

As the first president who was not only openly homosexual but also unmarried, Kijoon was a controversial choice to say the least. Nevertheless, after winning the last election by a small margin, he had consistently shown his true merits and performed remarkably well, to the endless frustration of his opponents. That he also possessed a considerable personal charm and an unusual way of thinking was yet another quality which had helped him steer his administration safely through troubled waters more than a few times in the last two years.

The list of brilliant achievements aside, Publae couldn’t hep but wonder if _this_ was the one thing that would finally prove too much and break the camel’s back. Malicious gossips, after all, were the many-headed hydra which would only flourish and multiply under any attempt to cut its heads off. 

Malicious gossips with incontrovertible proof were said hydra on a homicidal rampage in pursuit of a bull’s-eye on the president’s back. 

“I wish you had told me,” Junsang said tightly. 

“There is nothing to tell.” An impatient note entered the president’s voice. “We were introduced. We talked. We chatted on the phone. We became friends.”

“‘Friend’ is a tricky word for someone in your position.”

“So I have noticed,” was the dry, sarcastic answer. 

Unsurprisingly, the tone failed to improve his chief of staff’s mood. “Do you really?” he demanded, voice rising slightly. “Because anyone who interacts with you _will_ fall under public scrutiny, no exception.”

“I do know that.”

“And yet this? A callboy?”

That it was the wrong thing to say was clear when the temperature inside the room suddenly plummeted. Publae found himself wishing that he were somewhere else but here, even the North Pole. 

“Let me make one thing clear.” The president’s tone of voice dipped into dangerous depths, his expression hard. “Whatever else he might be, he is a well-known, respectable singer, and I have never once in the course of our acquaintanceship paid him for anything, in any form. That is the truth and the only truth.”

Junsang stiffened. “That might be the truth,” he retorted, his voice no less hard, “but here’s the catch: none of it makes a difference in the public’s eye. All they know, all they will care about and remember is the fact you are seen kissing someone who is not only a well-known face in the entertainment scene, but also allegedly a prostitute. The truth doesn’t matter in the slightest.”

“Alright,” the president finally said with a sigh as he slumped back into his chair. “How do you suggest that we deal with this then?”

“Denial is out of the question,” Junsang launched into his chain of analyses at once. “So is feigning obliviousness. There are pictures, and while they’re not that clear, there’s no mistaking you or him. On the other hand, confirming is certainly disastrous, but at least it _is_ honest. By the way, you’re going to have to find some time today after the intelligence briefing and speak with the White House Counsel to find out for certain if you have broken any law.”

“Fine, but I will to talk to _him_ first,” the president stressed. “This is not just about me.”

It earned him a reluctant nod of resignation. “I suppose that’s only right. How did you come to know him anyway?”

“The usual,” the answer came with a shrug. “We met at a fundraiser and he came with Senator Cho Seungwoo. Like I said, we were introduced and just started talking.” 

Junsang looked like he was about to have a seizure. “Then you _knew_ he was an escort from the very beginning.” 

The look the Presidenp gave him was calm but steely. “I did.” 

Again, Publae found himself marvelling at Uhm Kijoon’s unshakable composure. It was this ability to take everything in his stride which had made him such a skilled politician. Even now, despite the worst PR catastrophe the House had seen in who knew how long brewing outside these walls, fear was noticeably absent from his expression. Only determination reigned. 

The effect on the people around him was unmistakable. Some of the tension disappeared from the rigid set of Junsang’s shoulders. He carried himself with more purpose now that the initial panic had turned into a series of problems to be solved. 

“This is going to cost us hell.”

“I know.” The president looked at him right in the eye, his expression the most solemn Publae had ever seen. “And I truly apologise for that.” 

The corners of Junsang’s lips twitched and Publae was suddenly reminded that this was the man who had put Uhm Kijoon in this room, in such position of unsurpassed power and authority. “Indeed,” he said dryly. “But now everything’s already happened, so let’s deal with it.”

With new purpose in his steps, he called in the senior staffs who were waiting outside, and Publae slipped out after a nod from the president. 

 

–

 

3.

Kyuhyun woke up this morning to the worst nightmare he could imagine. 

The unexpected phone call at five in the morning was enough to give him a pounding headache, especially after less than two hours of sleep. It was his manager’s words and the pictures he sent only seconds later, however, which plunged him straight into the darkest pit of hell. 

The terrible truth was, it wasn’t as if the possibility of getting caught had never crossed his mind. Despite all the precautions and careful veneer applied on the surface, what they, the idols, did in this particular capacity was still illegal, not to mention morally wrong. Still, Kyuhyun had been doing the job for so long that any thought of being exposed barely ever touched his consciousness anymore. Everyone around him did it. The general public was probably shielded from the knowledge, but anyone important and relevant enough to be in the know _knew_. 

In the world he lived in, it was implicitly understood that every idol was for sale. Kyuhyun still remembered the pep talk given by one of his seniors from the same management: it might be difficult at first, but it was part of their job description and anyone unwilling to sacrifice that much could always find the door anytime they wanted out. In any case, the principle was the same. They still sold their beauty, their loveliness, their so-called perfection—all these qualities which fans had been paying to enjoy. All it required was a slight shift of values, but the core fact never changed: they were goods for sale. 

It only followed logic that someone who was prepared to pay a lot more would get the privilege to touch. 

This might be the dark side of being an idol, but the practice itself was actually quite common, not to mention all neat and systematic. Everything was always meticulously planned and above suspicion. If he were to be an escort for a social event, then a formal invitation would be procured for him, under his name, and he could arrive in the arm of a fellow guest quite naturally without rousing the suspicion of any unsuspecting party. If the evening would then proceed with him spending a night at said fellow guest's bedroom, then it would be an arrangement between two consenting adults and no law could say otherwise. 

Senator Cho Seungwoo was a regular example. He was a nice, sympathetic client from whom Kyuhyun had never had a moment’s trouble before—until he found himself introduced to the source of all troubles himself. Being involved with the president was a sure way to get himself in the kill list of the hungry jackals charitably known as the paparazzi.

For the last four hours, he had received multiple phone calls from furious representatives in his management, berating him for his carelessness. They themselves had been flooded with angry calls and anxious emails demanding explanations, some reparation for violation of contracts as well as defamation. More than a few had also deemed him unsuitable to continue being a part of their projects and duly informed them that termination was the obvious choice. 

That, more than anything else, was the biggest blow for Kyuhyun. He had just begun carving a niche for himself. Once he was able to establish himself as a celebrated musical actor, he would no longer have to participate in any unsavoury part of his job, and perhaps then…

His eyes flicked back to the pictures still open in his tablet’s browser. It had been two days ago, after a concert. They had arrived separately, Kijoon in an unmarked car as was his habit, and they both had slipped out fifteen minutes before the performance was due to end. Kyuhyun remembered laughing at Kijoon’s jokes, high on joy and adrenaline from the excitement. Kijoon was smiling at him and there was this quiet yet intense affection in his face which made Kyuhyun's heart skip, falter, and race, all at the same time—and the next thing he knew, he had thrown every caution out of the window and kissed the president, right in front of a dozen of Secret Service agents. 

That they had let him live at all was a miracle—although it probably had something to do with the fact that Kijoon had then pushed him against the car and turned Kyuhyun's small peck into a full makeout session. 

The pictures had actually turned out quite nice, especially considering the awkward angle from which they had been taken. He had worn his white lavish mink coat, a startlingly gorgeous contrast to the president’s dark suit. It was, in retrospect, a thoroughly stupid choice, because the coat pretty much begged everyone to notice him when all he wanted was to attract the notice of one person. 

The person who had yet to contact him so far. 

The bitterness of betrayal began to rise at the back of Kyuhyun's throat. He had sent a text message hours and hours ago, asking whether Kijoon had seen the news. No answer had come so far, but once again, it was nothing unexpected. After all, Kyuhyun had known from the very beginning that anything which involved him and the president could only mean a brief affair fraught with risks and secrecy and no little heartache. 

He might have hoped before. If everything were to go smoothly with his career, if he managed to secure his place as he had planned, then maybe, _maybe_ there could be a future in which they would be walking side by side, however minuscule the chance. 

Obviously, that castle in the air had now crumbled to nothing. 

When his cell phone finally rang and showed the president’s private number on the screen, the violent rush of relief, panic, and ridiculous hope inside his chest almost made him sick. 

“Hello?” he answered faintly. 

“Kyuhyun, how are you?”

The sound of Kijoon's deep, concerned voice was enough to make Kyuhyun bite his lips so hard the metallic tang of blood spread on his tongue, all to prevent a sob from escaping the tight clutch of his throat. For a few moments, he couldn't trust himself to speak. 

“Fine,” he finally managed to say, twisting the front of his T-shirt. “And you?”

“I've been better.” The reply offered an opening for a laugh, but Kyuhyun could barely process the words, let alone react. “I really apologise for all the troubles caused by the… news.”

“It’s okay,” he answered automatically. “I mean, it’s not like there wasn’t any rumour before. And I kissed you first, remember? If anything, I should be the one saying sorry.”

“Still, an association with me—or rather, with my office—must have magnified the effect.”

‘Magnified’ was a ridiculously inadequate word to describe the complete train wreck which was his career right now that Kyuhyun almost laughed hysterically. Or cry, whichever could loosen all these terrible knots in his chest. 

“I’m fine,” he repeated, painfully aware that he sounded everything but.

“God, Kyuhyun.” A crack came to Kijoon's voice. “I’m so sorry.”

The words _I’m fine_ were still at the tip of his tongue, but Kyuhyun he knew better than to insult Kijoon with so many repeated lies. “What are you planning to do now?” he asked instead after clearing his throat. 

“We are still discussing options, but seriously, how is it on your end?” 

Kyuhyun could have said _I lost my role in Jersey Boys_ , but even in the privacy of his own mind, it sounded pathetic and childish and too much like a petty complaint, especially compared to all the problems Kijoon must be facing right now. So he swallowed it, bitter and all, and forced as much as false cheer as he could into his voice. 

“Don't worry about me, I'm tough. Just keep your head there, Mr President.”

“But I do worry.”

And this stupid flutter inside his chest at those four little words, Kyuhyun realised with a painful clench, was exactly why he had risked and _would_ still risk so much for this man. 

“I know, and I lo– I’m really grateful for that.”

There was a pause, and then, “I love you too.” 

Kyuhyun laughed, tears springing to his eyes. That's it, he was doomed. After everything that had happened in the last few hours, hearing those words shouldn't have made him feel so ridiculously happy—except it did. 

Stupidly, wonderfully happy. 

He, Kyuhyun resigned himself to his fate, had fallen in love. 

 

–

 

4.

Min Youngki was not sure what he had done to deserve this catastrophe in his lap. 

Had he wondered out loud, a well-meaning colleague would probably have pointed out that he was the White House Communications Director and therefore the most obvious choice to be in charge when such a major PR disaster occurred. As it were, he was currently too deep in shock to open his mouth, let alone form any sort of coherent query. 

The shock passed about five seconds later. The senior staffs were in conclave in the chief of staff's office after a brief meeting with the president and their usual load of work for the day was still waiting outside the door. In this place, with this kind of job, they literally had no time to indulge in the finer sides of human emotions.

“Damage control is definitely our first and foremost objective,” Youngki said a moment later. “Our focus this week should have been the Health Care Bill we just passed yesterday, but no one will care about that now.”

“Alright,” Junsang said with a sigh. “What is the extent of the damage that we know of so far?”

“Most, if not all the big medias have picked up the story by now,” Gunmyung replied quickly. “Never mind Health Care. Only one story will dominate the news and public interest for days, even weeks. I won't get any question in my press room on any other subject, I can guarantee you.”

“What about public reaction?” 

Youngki grimaced. “As well as you can guess. Many demand a full disclosure and a public apology. Some have even told him outright to resign. The Internet, of course, is going crazy with jokes and insults.”

“The first reaction is always the worst,” Shin Sungwoo, the Deputy Chief of Staff, pointed out reasonably. “But the biggest problem is actually the fact that they have pictures as visual proofs. Speaking of those pictures, I suppose there is no doubt of their authenticity?”

“None whatsoever,” Junsang answered dryly. “You heard the President. It was him.”

“Which brings me to the next question. Why did they run the story in the first place?”

A pause occurred as everyone considered this new angle. “That’s actually a legit question,” Junsang decided a moment later. “What do we know about this tabloid? Are they affiliated with the opposition?”

“I might have an answer to that,” Gunmyung spoke up. “It’s pretty ridiculous, but people have done stranger things in the name of bigotry before.”

They all stared at him. “You're kidding me,” Junsang muttered incredulously.

Gunmyung shook his head. “I wish I were.”

“They ran the story because they didn’t approve of a gay president?”

“That’s about it.”

“And here I thought we lived in the 21st century,” Junsang muttered wryly. “Alright, so they’re a bunch of homophobes who wants to denigrate the president. Let’s work that angle a bit and let the public know that they did it out of spite, but do it quickly and briefly. We must work with everything we have. What about this idol singer? What do we know about him?”

“Cho Kyuhyun, twenty-four years old,” Youngki consulted his notes. “Debuted 6 years ago in a rotational idol group, which was an experimental project by SM Entertainment at that time. The project was discontinued three years ago and he has since gone on a solo career with far better success. Had three mini solo albums and five musicals so far, two of which are prominent roles.”

“And the callboy accusation?”

Youngki smiled grimly. “I'm afraid it's not unusual for idol companies to make their idols available for other uses, especially if there are perks involved to advance their careers. They are, after all, very attractive.”

Sungwoo winced. “You make it sound like the president is a very shallow man.”

“We all know he isn’t,” Youngki quickly said, “but the problem is not us, but the public and how they will see it. It’ll be too easy to start throwing stones in matters like this because after all, it involves a callboy.”

“There's nothing like morality to turn people into such hypocrites,” Junsang said dryly. 

“Youngki is right though,” Gunmyung joined in. “This has always been the president’s number one weakness—although yes, to call it a weakness is wrong on so many levels. Still, it's the fact that his unmarried state makes him an easy target at this front. Not to mention, it's often misconstrued as either an inability to commit or avoidance of stability.” A pause. “The problem is we have no precedent. There was no gay, unmarried president before.”

“Then we lay down our own rules,” Junsang said decisively, “as usual. The builders of worlds are pioneers, not followers of another's footsteps.” 

It was hard not to smile at the steely note in Junsang's voice. “Aye, aye, sir,” Youngki answered, more convinced now that this, too, was a storm that would pass. As always. 

 

–

 

5.

Yongsun was not a vain man, but he did consider himself one of the best in his line of work. 

After being a manager to more than a dozen idols in the last ten years, there was very little he did not know about the profession. Organising schedules; fielding complaints; facilitating sudden requests; dealing with emergencies; all these he could handle with poise and aplomb. And if he had to ignore his conscience every now and then when a request came to arrange a private meeting of slightly questionable nature, then it was part and parcel of the job. 

Conducting a business call with the White House Communications Director, however, was not. 

Throughout the conversation, Yongsun was constantly reminded at how completely and painfully out of his depth he was in this problem. He sat in complete silence in the conference room, only stammering a word or two when the director addressed a question to him. Min Youngki had a reputation of unimpeachable politeness which could turn intimidating at times. His clear, ringing voice was pleasant despite its businesslike tone, but there was no mistaking his control in the flow of the talk—or his opinion about the business they were running, for that matter. 

Needless to say, Yongsun was beyond relieved when the call ended. 

He endured another hour of being grilled by his superiors before he was finally released. Then and only then did he turn his attention to the nagging worry he had kept at the back of his mind. 

Despite his long and varied experience in the field, Yongsun was genuinely fond of his current charge. They had known each other since Kyuhyun’s debut in the rotational group, and when the young, talented singer had started garnering attention as a solo artist and needed a senior manager to handle his schedules, Yongsun was an obvious choice. So far, the two of them had found the arrangement very much satisfactory. 

Yongsun made sure to buy some food before finally heading to Kyuhyun’s apartment. Kyuhyun had sounded devastated on the phone earlier, which came as no surprise. He could only think of two things that might be able to lift Kyuhyun’s spirit right now and one of them was so obviously out of the question that he had no choice but to resort to the only remaining option.

Kyuhyun’s place was a one-bedroom space in a quiet, unassuming building downtown with just enough privacy and security to ensure his safety. It was certainly nothing as glamorous as often portrayed in dramas or social medias, but Kyuhyun himself preferred it—another trait which only endeared him even more to Yongsun. 

The Kyuhyun who opened the door for him half an hour later, however, was not the Kyuhyun who had dazzled thousands with his lovely voice and beautiful appearance. Yongsun had to make an effort not to grimace at the bloodshot eyes and dark circles so black they almost looked like bruises on Kyuhyun's sickly pale face—but he could not _not_ give in to his impulse and pull the younger man into a tight hug. 

“You look like hell,” he declared, careful not to let too much worry slip into his voice. 

“Feel like one too.” Kyuhyun's answer was muffled on his shoulder. Yongsun laughed before retreating quickly. 

“How are you, really?”

An eye roll and an exaggerated sigh accompanied the answer. “Seriously, why does everyone keep asking me that?” 

Yongsun raised an eyebrow. “Everyone? Aren’t you popular.”

Kyuhyun managed a faint smile at his lame attempt of a joke. “What did you bring me?” He glanced at the plastic bags Yongsun had deposited on a nearby table. 

They spent the next fifteen minutes or so confronting a generous selection of food. They were all Kyuhyun’s favourites, but Yongsun realised that he had put way too much faith on the power of good food when Kyuhyun did little except pick at his portion. 

“You were contacted by the White House?” Kyuhyun suddenly asked, peering at him from behind messy brown bangs. 

Yongsun swallowed his fried rice before answering, “Sort of. To be precise, they contacted the management and asked for my presence as your manager. They wanted to speak to you, but Mr Lee wouldn’t allow it.” He paused, and then asked quietly, “Has anyone from the White House contacted you?”

Kyuhyun looked down at his food. “The president did.”

Yongsun tried his best to keep his expression unchanged. It had been months since Kyuhyun had first told him, but the thought of _the_ President’s having any sort of personal relationship with his charge never failed to floor him. 

From the beginning, Yongsun could already recognise the entire thing as the disaster it so obviously was. He had dispensed plenty of warnings and worst-case scenarios back then, but even the darkest he could conjure wither before Kyuhyun’s undisguised joy. Kyuhyun had looked happier than he had ever seen him, brightly and blindingly so, and Yongsun knew that he could never deny him this one happiness, no matter how dangerous it might be. 

“And what did he say?” he asked carefully. 

Kyuhyun shrugged. “Just asking how I was holding up, that sort of thing. Nothing you wouldn't expect.”

Yongsun stared at him. “Kyuhyun, how serious is it between the two of you?”

A surprisingly bitter laugh left Kyuhyun's throat. “What does it matter now? Nothing will ever come of it. What’s more important is what did they say to you? ”

Yongsun was totally not ready dismiss the matter so soon without a clear answer, but had enough experience with Kyuhyun’s moods to know better and leave it be for now. “Basically they want you to lay low for the time being,” he said instead. 

“That won’t be a problem at all,” was Kyuhyun’s sarcastic reply. “It isn’t as if I could go any lower.”

“Don’t say that,” Yongsun snapped, surprising even himself with the harsh note in his own voice. 

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll get through this just fine, as you always do.”

The look Kyuhyun gave him was one of defiant challenge mixed with desperate plea. “How?”

Never in his life had Yongsun wished that he had an answer to give, but he had none.

 

–

 

6.

By the time Kijoon dismissed his personal assistant, Kim Seungdae, for the night, tomorrow had become today. 

One of the first things Kijoon had learned about this job was there was no such thing as office hours when you were the President of the United States. An international naval crisis in the Pacific and an East Coast freak storm had claimed much of his attention for most of the day. The only upside was, at least the busy schedule had successfully distracted him from the obvious dilemma staring at him in the face. 

Now, alone in his bedroom in the Executive Residence, he had no choice but to confront it. 

Kijoon had never given much thought to marriage outside the scope of his political ambition. As far as he was concerned, an attachment was a burden as much as a benefit. The absence of a supportive spouse was decidedly felt as a detrimental factor during both of his senatorial and presidential campaigns—and yet, when all was said and done, he had managed to win against all odds. 

The same could be said after he had come into office. So far, he had done his job well enough despite said absence (his chief of staff was way too competent to allow anything as trivial as a lack of spouse to affect his president in any negative manner) and therefore never felt any urgent need to change his marital status. In any case, so great a change would be immensely difficult for someone in his position. 

But then he met Kyuhyun. 

For the first time in his life, Kijoon found himself wondering. Kyuhyun was smart, lovely, and attractive, but he was definitely not someone with whom the president could be seen associating, let alone dating. To put a stop to it as soon as possible would have been the best course of action, but Kijoon knew that he had never been one to play by the rules. And Kyuhyun was worth the risk. 

Or so he had thought. Now he couldn’t help but think if he had miscalculated. Occupied as he had been the entire day with matters of state, it was nevertheless difficult not to notice all the changes after the fourth or fifth person had avoided meeting his eyes. He had always been known as a cheerful, good-natured man; now they couldn’t even return his smile and hid their faces from him instead. 

Then again, what had he expected? He was the president—of course people would judge him. And if it was this bad inside the White House, he could only imagine how it was out there. 

He would have to decide on an action quickly. Silence wouldn’t serve him well in this case and Gunmyung could only fend the press corps with clever evasion for so long before even the decent ones would attack him head-on by printing their worst theories. 

A quiet ping from his phone distracted him from his line of thought. Kijoon reached for it slowly, half dreading an emergency in some part of the world, but then saw that a chat message had come from Kyuhyun.

_Don't work too hard! And don’t forget to eat ^^_

Kijoon stared at his phone screen for a long moment, heart filled with aching. 

For probably the thousandth time that day, he wished that things had been different.

  


**_End Chapter 1  
_ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, when I said three chapters, I actually meant four orz

* * *

 

7.

Almost two weeks since the story had broken, the situation had barely improved.

Junsang couldn’t remember the last time he had slept more than one or two hours per night. His regular duties still called much of his attention, but in the back of his mind, the other problem persisted, like the shadow of a noose.

Even after so many days had elapsed, public sentiment remained at its lowest ever since Kijoon had taken office. It was clear that the people wouldn’t let it go, as reflected in the increasingly raucous voices in the House and Senate demanding resignation, or at the very least, an apology.

By then, Junsang was painfully aware that any hope to salvage the situation in their favour was gone. Censure by Congress was probably the best they could hope for—and he knew they would be lucky to get away with it, no matter how humiliating it might be. Needless to be said, the rest of the term would be a nightmare with _that_ dangling over their head.

As for re-election, he had absolutely zero wish to think, let alone talk, about it.

Nowadays, the senior staffs would meet twice a day, the second meeting held late at night to discuss viable options in order to deal with The Crisis, as Sungwoo had taken to calling it. He was probably the only one brave enough to still attempt a joke every now and then, however inappropriate it might feel. Youngki went around looking worse than a death-row prisoner, like he hadn’t had any sleep at all in the last two weeks. Gunmyung, normally the most cheerful among them, hadn’t laughed for as long as Junsang could remember after the news. He also had made it his habit to stay as far away as possible from his press room except for his daily briefing schedules, which was not only odd but also uncharacteristic of such a friendly man.

The president himself was not completely unaffected. He certainly was a better actor than the world often gave him credit for, but the changes were unmistakable. Sombreness now cloaked him like it never had before and what smile he still had was reserved for the camera and public eye. The media attack on him continued, relentless, impervious to any evasive manoeuvre or clever tactic attempted by their side.

Time was running out.

It was by the end the second week, during their second meeting of the day—which took place at 11 PM in Junsang’s office with the president in attendance for once—when Sungwoo finally opened his mouth and said, “Am I right in thinking that we have exhausted every feasible option there is?”

Junsang glanced wearily at him. “I think we have exhausted the unfeasible ones too.”

“Not really.” Sungwoo cast a quick look around the room before settling at the silent president. “With the risk of getting yelled out of this room, let me ask this one question. Am I really the only one who thinks that the answer is staring at us in the face?”

The others stared uncomprehendingly at him. It took Junsang five seconds longer than usual (in his brain’s defence, it had been a long and frustrating day, not to mention the last two hours had been spent in an intellectual joust with the Attorney General) to understand what his deputy was getting at.

He choked. “No.”

Sungwoo fixed him a long, obstinate look. “It makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t!”

“Hold on,” Youngki cut in, his voice strangely high-pitched, “are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you’re thinking of wedding bells, then yes I am.”

“What?” the president finally broke his silence.

Junsang exploded. “He’s a callboy!”

“No, he’s a singer and a musical actor,” Sungwoo countered him deftly.

“Who doubles as an escort when he has to! We can’t have a First Lady with a history like that!”

“And we won’t, since he’s a guy.”

Junsang levelled him a withering look. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m sure Gunmyung can spin the story any way we want it,” Sungwoo pointed out in a placating tone.

As a matter of fact, Gunmyung looked like he was two seconds away from handing his resignation. It was purely owing to his overwhelmingly good heart—which would never allow him to abandon friends in need—that he remained in his seat instead of reaching for the nearest pen and paper.

“The plan has its merits,” he finally offered his opinion, completely honest if obviously reluctant.

“No, it doesn’t! It’s lunacy!”

“And we don’t know if he even wants to marry me,” came the level, thoughtful—if extremely unhelpful—contribution from the president.

Junsang took a deep breath. He had to remind himself that it was _him_ who had gotten Kijoon elected and to strangle him now would defeat the purpose so spectacularly it did not even bear thinking about.

“That is _not_ the point,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Wait.” Unfortunately Youngki was quick to seize the chance. “Does that mean you _want_ to marry him?”

“Still not the point–”

“He must marry one day,” Youngki declared, matching his stubbornness. “And let’s be honest, this will give us an edge. All the good publication we sorely need. In fact, this might just be the one thing that still can get us out of this mess topside. Everyone loves a wedding and a presidential wedding, while so far unheard of, surely can match a royal one with all its pomp and circumstance. Imagine all the boost in public support we can gain in a matter of days with this story in focus–”

“That’s enough,” Junsang interrupted harshly. “I know that you’re under a lot of stress lately, Youngki, but that’s a despicable idea.”

Youngki quickly backed down, looking chastised, but Sungwoo clearly hadn’t finished. “Look, we’re not saying that a wedding is the only answer and it must take place at all cost even if there is no love present, but on the chance that there _is_ , why not use this chance–”

“Because one does _not_ marry for political gain.”

“I’ve always known you’re a romantic but–”

“Again, that is not the point–”

“Shouldn’t we at least ask the president what _he_ thinks about this idea?” Gunmyung suddenly spoke up.

The abrupt silence which followed was awkward to say the least, until Junsang cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Kijoon. “Indeed, what do you think, sir?”

“Thank you,” the president said dryly. “To those among you who care about my opinion, I would say that the idea was, in fact, not entirely new to me.”

“Oh my God,” Youngki muttered breathlessly. Junsang, on the other hand, was much too shocked to respond. “You _do_ want to marry him.”

Kijoon waved a hand dismissively. “It did cross my mind, but it was more an idle notion than anything else. In some distant future, when I’m no longer the president, maybe I will give it a serious thought.”

“But now?” Gunmyung’s curiously calm voice queried.

“I can’t answer that right now. Not yet.”

“Except we might need the answer very, very soon,” he pointed out reasonably, careful enough not to pose it as a challenge.

It was then when Junsang finally shook himself out of daze and said, if a little too quiet, “We’re really talking about this.”

“But we will do nothing until we receive the go signal,” Gunmyung said, eyes fixed on Kijoon. “This is only an option, sir, nothing more. Junsang is right, of course. A marriage is too important to be used as a mere political manoeuvre. However if, _if_ by any chance this is also something which reflects your wish, then perhaps we have a solution in our hands.”

“But there’s still the question of acceptance,” Youngki said nervously. “What about this Cho Kyuhyun? He’s only twenty-four. Does he even want to marry into _this_? Because like it or not, he’ll occupy the office of the First Lady once he has married the president.”

“Let someone approach him first with the idea,” Sungwoo suggested, “to gauge his reaction.”

“No.” Kijoon’s response was swift and decisive. “Something this important must come from me first. I won’t have it any other way.”

It was this response which reminded Junsang just exactly _why_ he had put Kijoon where he was right now. It was also the moment when he knew that his stubbornness had been defeated.

“Then you have made up your mind?” he said out loud, half a question, half a statement.

The look Kijoon gave him in return was steady. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll know my answer.”

Junsang nodded, sighed, and conceded defeat.

 

–

 

8.

This was, clearly and undoubtedly, one of the stupidest things Kyuhyun had ever done in his life.

He smoothed down the lines of his dark blue suit for probably the hundredth time in the last hour or so, all too aware of the modest colour and ordinary, almost unflattering cut. The suit came from the more conventional part of his wardrobe, which he almost never touched. The reason for today’s deviation was simple: it would not do for him to stick out like a sore thumb and draw too much attention—as per his job’s usual demand—given his present notoriety, not to mention the person he would be seeing momentarily. He had even foregone his usual makeup regime and styled his hair plainly in severe, sleek lines in order to blend in better with the regular office crowd.

The result was no different from a regular White House employee, if slightly better dressed and certainly better looking than most.

Unable to stay still, Kyuhyun stood up and paced the length of the sitting room. It was lavishly furnished and yet retained the air of a very expensive hotel or a palatial museum. The light Martini which he had been served upon his arrival stood untasted on a side table, and in the far corner of the room was a full bar ready for his further enjoyment should he wish for it. The steward had been unfailingly polite, but there was no doubt in Kyuhyun’s mind that he had been recognised.

The first time he had set foot in the residence area of the White House had been six weeks ago. Back then Kijoon had been with him all the way from the car through an underground entrance to avoid being seen. There had been no cursory tour of the place and they headed straight for the presidential bedroom, to the relief of everyone concerned.

Kyuhyun had come through the same entrance today, and yet without Kijoon’s presence at his side, everything was a dozen times more intimidating. He couldn’t help but feel painfully out of place, almost like he didn’t deserve to be there.

 _Maybe because you don’t_ , a malicious voice echoed in his head, and as much as Kyuhyun hated it, he couldn’t help but wonder. It was true, of course. He had no business being there, and yet, when the president had called yesterday and asked if they could have dinner together, not even for one second Kyuhyun had hesitated. Pathetic as it might be, he knew he would jump at any chance to see Kijoon again.

Everything was conducted far more carefully this time. An ordinary car had waited at the basement of his apartment to pick him up at seven o’clock. The silent man behind the wheel had barely spoken a word to him—no doubt under a superior’s direct order. All the way, Kyuhyun had kept glancing at the rear-view mirror every five seconds or so, constantly wondering if someone could be following him. The heavily tinted glass, however, allowed little observation, and in any case, he had been too distracted to notice much.

It was almost nine when the door finally opened and Kijoon walked in.

“I’m really sorry,” he said in a rush, heading straight for Kyuhyun. “The budget meeting ran late. You must’ve waited long.”

“No, not really,” Kyuhyun automatically answered, heart already racing. He could only stand dumbly, waiting for Kijoon to approach him.

Kijoon stopped two paces away, and unlike usual, there was no greeting kiss or warm embrace. “Thank you for coming,” he said instead, with a faint smile so stifled with formality that it hurt.

This sudden reserve chafed. Kyuhyun swallowed his frustration in silence. Two weeks ago, they had been conversing as easily as friends who had known each other for years. Now, they stood separate as if there were an unbridgeable distance between them ( _of course there_ **_was_ ** ), Kyuhyun all awkward and out of place, Kijoon with dark circles under his eyes and deep exhaustion etched on his face.

“I think we better go to the dining room now, you must be hungry–”

“No.” The word had left Kyuhyun’s mouth before he could stop it—but now that it had, the rest followed easily. “Dinner can wait. Sit down.”

Kijoon’s face registered surprise. “What?”

Without answering, Kyuhyun pulled him to the sofa and sat him down. Only after he had made sure that Kijoon was comfortable that he fetched a glass of cognac from the bar, something he knew the president often enjoyed at the end of the day.

“Here.” He handed the glass to Kijoon. “Drink this, loosen your tie, and do nothing for the next five minutes except breathe and wind down.”

“Not even stare at you?”

Even an eye roll and an attempt at scowling could not prevent a blush from rising to Kyuhyun’s face. Being in his profession, he was no stranger to flirting and compliments, and yet such a ridiculously cheesy teasing from this man and he was reduced to a teenager in the flush of first love.

“Only if it’s relaxing for you,” Kyuhyun finally managed a not-too-embarrassing reply after clearing his throat.

“Sometimes you are very relaxing and sometimes you are the complete opposite,” Kijoon declared with a chuckle and pulled Kyuhyun down to sit next to him. The sudden proximity left him tongue-tied—mostly because Kijoon did not let go of his hand—but somehow, it was also oddly comforting. They sat in silence as Kijoon took small sips from his glass and gradually relaxed. Little by little, the tension in the set of his shoulders began to ease and Kyuhyun could not help but smile, strangely proud at this small accomplishment.

“Thank you,” Kijoon suddenly said, the words so quiet and tender that Kyuhyun’s heart ached. The gentle stroke to the back of Kyuhyun’s hand did not help.

“You should take care of yourself better,” Kyuhyun heard himself chide sternly.

“So should you,” Kijoon pointed out, but the smile on his lips did not last long, every hint of teasing gone as soon as he took a good look at Kyuhyun’s face. “You’re thinner.”

“So _are_ you,” Kyuhyun returned deftly, all stubbornness, and Kijoon laughed.

“I guess we both have a valid excuse.”

Kyuhyun tried to mirror the laugh, but the effort was lost in a gentle, unexpected kiss Kijoon placed on his lips. It came out of nowhere and he was left with head spinning and hands shaking slightly, the sharp smokiness from the cognac teasing his lips.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” he answered hastily, stumbling over the rest. “It’s just… it’s been a while and…” He looked down, unable to continue. At times like this, he felt woefully immature and inadequate, especially compared to the man sitting next to him.

“I miss you too.” And even _worse_ when the man could simply say it, thumb brushing the side of Kyuhyun’s chin affectionately. “And I’m so happy you agreed to come here.”

This time, he managed a laugh. “So am I, weird as it is.”

They gently fell into another silence, this one far more comfortable than the former. Kijoon was still holding his hand, stroking his fingers and staring at his nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. There was a split second when Kyuhyun suddenly regretted not taking care of his nails better—or not visiting his usual salon and therefore manicurist—but then, thankfully, he realised just how absurd the thought was and banished it from his mind.

“That must be an interesting train of thoughts.”

“What?” Kyuhyun snapped up his head in shock. Kijoon, he discovered, was no longer staring at his hands; instead, he had his full attention on Kyuhyun’s face now, complete with a grin which seemed more fond than curious.

“You made such interesting faces,” the president told him, amusement evident in his voice. “Yes, _faces_. Quite a few of them, in fact. What were you thinking?”

“No, no, I was just…” Kyuhyun stuttered, flustered. That ridiculous thought was the last thing he would ever tell Kijoon. “Really, it was… nothing. That is, nothing of importance. And certainly not worth telling you. In fact... can we drop this?”

“Alright.” Kijoon smirked, and Kyuhyun did not bother to resist an urge to pout. What he did not and would never say out loud was how much preferable the familiar smirk was compared to the gloomy face the older man had worn ten minutes ago.

This was, Kyuhyun realised with a bittersweet pang, also the happiest he himself had been in the last fortnight.

“How are things on your end?” Kijoon suddenly asked.

Kyuhyun froze, reality slamming back in. It took him a moment to gather himself and force an answer out of his throat. “I’m okay.”

“Tell me.”

“Look, you don’t need to hear these things.”

“I want to, so tell me.”

“It's nothing interesting, I swear–”

“ _Tell me_ ,” Kijoon repeated, calm, adamant, and absolutely leaving no room for argument. Kyuhyun was left torn between wanting to keep his now pathetic life away from Kijoon’s eyes and wanting to simply tell _him_ , this one person who suddenly mattered to him more than anyone else.

It was difficult to start, the words weighing down his jaw painfully, but it was even more difficult to stop once he had started. Something in Kijoon’s voice had unleashed the heavy waves pounding at the wall of his silence and turned them into an angry flood. Somewhere between the postponement for his first full album’s release, the withdrawal of his participation in a joint concert, and basically the termination of every public activity, the words turned to tears.

It took a long time but the sobs finally subsided, words exhausted and everything else in pieces. Kijoon was whispering _I’m so sorry_ ’s into his ears, stroking his back, and kissing his hair, and it was all Kyuhyun could do not to cling to the other man like he was the only person left in this world.

“Not your fault,” Kyuhyun managed to speak once he had recovered enough of his composure “It’s just the kind of world I live in. It’s lies, you know? Everything in front of the camera, everything happening on stage, it’s all lies. We sell appearances, never truths, because truths are too ugly. No one wants to pay for something ugly. But once it’s out in the open, you can’t take it back.”

Kyuhyun was aware that he was babbling nonsense, but Kijoon didn’t stop him. And so he kept rambling—about life behind the screen, about all the filthy things he must do to survive in that cruel world, about how much he just loved singing, about how something similar had happened to a former senior from another management and the public had ruthlessly killed his career, just like that.

The silence which settled in afterwards was heavy and uncomfortable. Kyuhyun tried not to wonder how childish the president must think of him now and forced himself to look up, meeting the other man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He almost cringed at the way he sounded now, after so much ranting and crying. “It must sound so silly to you. And I really shouldn’t burden you with all this.”

The look Kijoon gave him was gentle but solemn. “Why not?”

“You already have so much in your plate–”

“Kyuhyun.” Kijoon’s voice was stern, almost angry. “Stop making it sound like you’re not important to me.”

Kyuhyun looked down and bit his lips, willing himself not to break down again. “I hate how easily you can make me feel like this.”

“Like what?”

He choked out half a laugh, half a sob. “Like although I’m completely miserable, I also feel so happy I could cry.”

“Then would you?” A sudden intensity entered Kijoon’s tone, as well as his expression. “Be miserable with me?”

Kyuhyun blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

There was a quick flash of a feeble, uncertain smile. “I was going to do this properly, after your favourite dessert and all, but maybe now is just as well.”

For a moment, it felt like Kyuhyun’s heart had stopped. “Do what?” he whispered, suddenly unable to breathe.

“Kyuhyun.” The solemnity returned and Kijoon’s fingers were a warm, solid presence, clasping Kyuhyun’s hand tight. “Will you marry me?”

 

_**End** _

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or five /runs

9.

Yongsun was as far from political as a polar bear from a desert.

Which meant that he usually skimmed past any difficult-sounding, politics-flavoured headline and went straight to the entertainment (for the job) or sports (for his own pleasure) section of any news site. If there were recent deviations—like when he had caught himself _actually_ paying more than cursory attention to articles related to their current president—then he wholeheartedly would put the blame on Kyuhyun.

Kyuhyun, who had asked him to _please, come over_ with a soft, pleading voice which allowed for no hesitation, let alone argument, even at five in the morning—only to tell him upon arrival that he had received a marriage proposal from said president.

“Who knows?” was Yongsun’s first reaction as soon as he could locate his voice.

“No one,” Kyuhyun mumbled, eyes still fixed on a nondescript spot on Yongsun’s sweater. “I mean, I haven’t told anyone else. You’re the first.”

Yongsun inwardly breathed out a sigh of relief and slumped into an empty chair. It was barely six. The sun had not even risen yet and he already felt more exhausted than he would have been after a gruelling three-hour gym session.

“Alright,” Yongsun nodded, trying to focus on the ginormous problem staring at him in the face. “So at least from our end, there are only you and me. That’s good. Now what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Kyuhyun’s voice suddenly rose, sharpened by irritation. “You don’t seriously think that I’ve made up my mind since last night, do you?”

Yongsun almost flinched from Kyuhyun’s tone, but was quick to realise his blunder and mumble an apology. Kyuhyun was right, of course; he wasn’t thinking. Extenuating circumstances aside, it _was_ still a marriage proposal.

Taking one mental step back, he forced himself to consider the situation more carefully. To say that this development was unexpected would roughly be the equivalent of saying that an inferno was warm. Still, he didn’t have to be a genius to recognise the merits of the plan. It might not be the most ethically correct answer to a problem, and yet there was no denying its obvious advantages, the most important being it just _might_ save them both.

One thing for sure, things must be dire indeed if the president had no other choice but resort to this course of action.

“Okay,” Yongsun tried again, more carefully this time. “So, as you said, you don’t know. What does that mean exactly?”

The look Kyuhyun gave him was so full of incredulity to the point of judging. “Really? I need to explain what _I don’t know_ means?”

Yongsun swallowed his own flash of annoyance at the sarcasm and tried to keep his voice level. “I’m putting it badly. Maybe the better question is, does it mean that you’re confused because some parts of you _actually_ want to marry him?”

“I honestly never thought about it,” Kyuhyun finally said after a lengthy pause, once more awkward but honest. “I mean, I know what he is and I know what I am. Anything more than that is an exercise in futility.”

“But you love him.”

A sudden laugh, shrill and jarring, came with the answer. “What does it matter?”

“It _does_ ,” Yongsun stressed, holding his gaze firmly, “if you choose to fight for it.”

“But it’s crazy!” Kyuhyun’s voice rose again, now with a touch of hysteria in it. “Me? The First Lady?”

“They won’t call you the First Lady.”

A sour look was tossed his way. “Yeah, that’s a real huge consolation.”

“Look.” Yongsun leaned forward, turning solemn. “This sucks. We both know it. A proposal like this, as a solution of problems instead of a true decision based on love, sucks big time. And if you don’t love him, then we’ll say no more about it. But if you do, if there is a real, honest reason why you’ve stayed with him all these months, then please consider very, very carefully, because like it or not, this might just be the solution that can save everything, including your reputation.”

“You mean I have to be realistic,” Kyuhyun muttered resentfully.

“I mean you have limited choices and they all suck, but in the end you still have to choose the least awful option. The Devil and the deep blue sea and all that.”

That was when Kyuhyun rose and turned a pair of wide-eyed, terrified eyes at him. “But I don’t know the first thing about politics. I didn’t even go to college. Whatever qualifications expected from someone who could stand at the president’s side, I don’t have them. I only know how to sing. And it’s really the only thing that I want to do in my life.”

Yongsun did not answer. He knew very well that Kyuhyun could hear the unspoken words in his silence—an assumption proven right when the younger man slumped back into his seat, defeated.

“Not that I can do any of it now, I suppose.”

“There’s no reason why you can’t keep singing if you decide to go through with it.” Yongsun kept his voice calm and reasonable. “Well, maybe not during his term, but afterwards.”

When Kyuhyun said nothing, he slowly added, “Maybe you can talk to him more thoroughly about this before making a decision. Find out what he expects from you.”

“Do you think that’s why he offers this marriage?”

The sudden question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“As a way out?”

Yongsun knew he should have seen it coming from miles away, but the fact that Kyuhyun felt insecure enough to actually _say_ it out loud made him realise that thing far worse than he had thought.

“Do you really think that?” he asked, incredulous.

The look Kyuhyun gave him was chock-full of pain. “I don’t know. You said it yourself, it’s the least awful option. Maybe for him, it’s only a logical choice.”

“Kyuhyun, listen to me,” Yongsun said forcefully, grabbing him on the shoulder. “I don’t know the answer to that. I don’t even know _him_ at all, but I will tell you what I know. He's the freaking president. Believe me when I say someone like him knows exactly what he's doing when he spends time with you, so there's absolutely no reason for him to do it again and again and again—and that over the course of several months—unless there _is_ a reason.”

“Maybe he was just looking for a good time,” Kyuhyun murmured, looking down at his clenched hands.

“If you truly believe that, then there’s nothing else to say,” Yongsun replied decisively. “He can't force you to marry him even though he's the president, so give him your answer as soon as you know for sure.”

“I know I don’t want to marry a president.”

“Alright.” Yongsun nodded. “But do you want to marry Uhm Kijoon?”

Kyuhyun said no more until he left.

 

–

 

10.

There was something to be said about wading waist deep in mud of a scandal and yet still commanding the attention of an entire town hall and its multitudes.

Whatever clash of opinions that would forever divide a country when it came to its president, the vote was pretty much unanimous on Uhm Kijoon’s power of oratory. A generally cheerful, mild-mannered man, he completely transformed into a commanding public speaker once he stepped into a stage. A podium was where he thrived, mesmerising a captive audience with timbre and pitch and cadence and sheer intensity.

Publae only caught snatches of the speech, retaining most of his attention where they should belong, which was keeping the parameters secure. The hall was not particularly ideal for full security, but the president’s fondness for music and performing arts and therefore their regular visits to theatres and concert halls had at least prepared Publae’s men to deal with like environments.

Still, he couldn’t say that he was not worried. In the last few weeks, they had received more threats than he could remember in the eleven years of his career in the Secret Service. The religious hate groups, especially, had been a lot more vocal lately, aggressively targeting the president’s sexual preference now that they had in their hands new arsenal to condemn what they called an ‘abomination’, to the point of making homosexuality an equivalent of promiscuity.

Publae knew different. His job might require him to be neutral in everything political, not to mention completely silent on things he might have seen or heard during the course of his duty, but he had no problem admitting the truth to himself. Uhm Kijoon, if anything, was among the more decent ones when it came to presidents.

Being the head of the Secret Service, he would invariably _know_ things. Sexual escapades, for one thing, were far from new. Nearly all presidents throughout the history of the country had had dalliances of some kind. The previous two he had served certainly _had_ , despite their long and relatively stable marriages. As a result, when President Uhm had told him to vet a particular idol singer, Publae was far from surprised. In any case, it was not his place to question what a president might do in private. For a person in his job, there was one and only one policy: absolute silence.

What he had not expected was that things would progress this far.

But it was not until the event was over and he already had the president safely back in the car and the motorcade was cruising to the White House through sparse weekend traffic, that Publae realised just how _far_  things actually were.

“Publae,” the president suddenly broke his silence and looked up from his phone. “I want to ask you a question. Please answer it honestly.”

“Of course, sir,” he replied, surprised.

“What do you think about Kyuhyun?”

Of all possible questions running through his head, it was definitely not among them. “What do you mean, sir?”

The look the president gave him was one of amusement. “You’ve met him personally. What is your opinion of him?”

Unused to give an opinion on such a personal matter, Publae considered his answer carefully. “He is a very charming young man,” he finally said.

The president snorted. “You’re not a politician, please don’t mince your words. Give me your honest opinion of him.”

“With your permission, sir.” Publae cleared his throat. “Mr Cho is a good person and he is in love with you.”

A wry smile came to the president’s face. “I see you’ve heard the rumours,” he said dryly.

Publae bowed his head but made no other acknowledgement. “Merely an observation, Mr President,” he said instead. “I may be wrong, of course, but I don’t think I am.”

Kijoon was silent for a few moments. “Then, do you think he will be a good partner for the president?”

“That is not for me to say,” Publae answered gravely.

“Yeah,” Kijoon sighed, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. The rest of the journey was spent in silence.

 

–

 

11.

The first time Gunmyung met him, it was entirely by chance.

He had been informed by Seungdae that Kijoon had returned to the Residence for dinner. Instead of the president, however, he found a familiar-looking young man, sitting alone in the president’s private study in obvious discomfort.

It took him a second to place a name on that face.

“You’re Cho Kyuhyun.”

The young man jumped to his feet, looking like a deer caught in headlights. As soon as he had noticed Gunmyung standing in the doorway, his discomfort seemed to increase tenfold, heightened by panic and fear. In fact, he looked seconds away from bolting.

Gunmyung took pity on him and quickly held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Press Secretary Lee Gunmyung,” he introduced himself cheerfully.

“Hello,” the reply came in a rush, although the hand which accepted his was steady enough. “I’m… Cho Kyuhyun but seems like you already know that.”

Gunmyung laughed good-naturedly. “Well, as they say, knowledge is power. It's especially true around here.”

Kyuhyun managed a quick, nervous smile. Beneath his warm, genial smile, Gunmyung silently observed him with much interest. Of course by now he had known nearly everything there was to know about the younger man. Min Youngki and he were in charge of crafting and delivering messages to the public respectively, and therefore the job of vetting and, should all go well, _promoting_ the future spouse of their President in the most favourable of lights fell squarely on their shoulders. After all, this was the person who would assume all the traditional duties of the First Lady.

The first thought which crossed his mind, after the initial surprise had passed, was that they certainly had their job cut out for them if the public’s judging criteria was limited to the physical side of things. Kyuhyun’s appearance was certainly in his favour, from his strikingly beautiful face to the immaculate cut of his suit. Perhaps the way he carried himself could do with a little training, especially to erase the intimidation which so obviously blighted his person at this moment, but the truth was, no one disliked looking at a pretty face and there lay their most obvious advantage.

Meanwhile, the young man in question blushed under his intent scrutiny “I… I’m here to see the president,” he said feebly.

Gunmyung quickly recovered himself. “Oh, yes of course. You have your answer then?”

“Excuse me?” Kyuhyun’s face had suddenly gone white. Only then did Gunmyung realise his blunder.

“I’m sorry, it’s none of my business,” he backtracked at once, inwardly cursing at himself. “I really didn’t mean anything by that.”

“No, it’s alright,” Kyuhyun muttered, shaking his head, but his face didn’t recover its colour. The damage had been done.

Gunmyung desperately searched for words to salvage the situation but was interrupted when his cell phone rang. A border conflict soon forced him to leave the pale-faced young man alone.

 

–

 

12.

Kijoon would be lying if he said that he did not feel anxious about the coming meeting.

When Kyuhyun had timidly expressed his wish for a private talk, he realised that he would have his answer the proposal. Despite the never-ending succession of problems which seemed to compete for his attention throughout the day, a thread of anxiety remained, slipping into every thought, every word, every action.  Kyuhyun might love him, but he was under no illusion that the answer, whatever it might be, would have very little to do with love.

The moment he entered his private study, after being detained by a crisis, he knew that something was decidedly wrong. Kyuhyun was sitting tensely in the sofa, his usually genial face for once set in an expressionless mask. He gravely rose to his feet at Kijoon's entrance and accepted his greeting tersely.

“Thank you for meeting me, I realise that you must be very busy.”

“Kyuhyun, what are you–”

“My answer is yes,” the younger man suddenly declared, his voice strangely formal and almost unnaturally loud. “I will marry you.”

Kijoon barely had time to process the tone of voice, let alone the words, when Kyuhyun suddenly walked past him and out of the room, leaving him alone with an acceptance which brought him more pain and disappointment than relief.

 

_**End Chapter 3** _

 


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